The
2-inch wide blooms of this cheerful looking Florida native are bright
yellow with reddish-brown centers. Like many members of the Asteraceae
family (the largest family of flowering plants in the world), beach
sunflower has heart-shaped leaves with rough, hairy undersides. Although
related to the tall sunflowers that adorn many gardens, this
drought-tolerant groundcover stretches outward instead of upward.

Easily
propagated from seeds, divisions or cuttings, beach sunflower does best
when placed in sunny locations with sandy, well-drained soil. A single
rooted cutting like Amber gave me, can span an 8-foot-by-8-foot area in
one summer.

That's what happened at my daughter's house.

Last year, Amber planted a small sprig of Helianthus debilis in her
front yard. She placed it beneath a palm tree in unimproved soil. The
only irrigation the plant received was an occasional blast from the
garden hose.
Despite the lack of attention (or maybe because of
it!), the cutting thrived. After only a few months of hot weather,
Amber's solitary plant had multiplied to such an extent it encircled the
palm tree and was inching outward toward the driveway.

I find
such aggressive behavior coupled with a need for minimal attention
appealing in a plant, especially if that plant is a Florida native
flower with a face that reminds me of a black-eyed-Susan.

"Take
some cuttings," my son-in-law said one day when my visit included my
usual raves about beach sunflower's beauty. "I just finished trimming a
bunch of it growing into the lawn."

Beach sunflower will do that.
Also known as dune sunflower because of its ability to tolerate salt
spray in seaside locations, Helianthus debilis is not the right plant
for tight places. If the intention is to line a walkway with a
low-maintenance plant or to edge a narrow space with cheery color, don't plant this sprawling sun lover. In no time at all your initial
planting will overflow its intended location and turn into a maintenance
headache.

That seems to be what happened along a segment of the West Orange Trail.

A small patch of Florida native plants once grew in a garden bed located where the bicycle trail intersects Mohawk Street in Clermont. That particular stretch parallels Washington Street, a road I
frequent. Whenever my route took me down the two-lane, I paid special
attention to the blooms that dressed up the macadam.

Week by week,
I noticed as the plants grew broader, inching their way outward onto
the pavement. Every now and then, someone would trim back the rambling
growth, but inevitably the plant simply rebounded.
Then one day,
as I drove down Washington Street, the triangular-shaped garden bed was
bare. I was disappointed, but I can't say I was surprised. Despite being
a drought-tolerant, disease-free native, beach sunflower's sprawling
nature wasn't right for such a restricted location.

I don't have
that problem where I live. Surrounded as we are by so much acreage,
there are countless spaces for sprawling plants to grow. Unfortunately,
years ago we made the mistake of filling many of our steep inclines and
difficult-to-mow places with wedelia — a groundcover that is also in the
Asteraceae family.

Like beach sunflower, wedelia is a low-growing, hardy perennial with long-lasting daisy-like blooms that spreads aggressively. Unlike its cousin,
wedelia is not native to the Sunshine State. Florida Exotic Pest Plant
Council lists it as a Category II invasive species because it forms
dense thickets that crowd out other species.

I wish I had known
about beach sunflower before planting wedelia so extensively. Not only
do I find its flowerheads more attractive than those of wedelia, I'd
also feel better if I knew my landscape included more native plants instead of invasive exotics.

But dwelling on "could-of-should-of's" is nonproductive. The important thing is to focus on the future.

Thanks to Amber's thoughtful gift, I have the start of a new
direction in groundcover plantings. While removing all the wedelia is
impractical, I can anticipate the day when butterfly-attracting stands
of beach sunflowers will augment the landscape. Someday, the cheery
blooms of beach sunflower will be sprawling over the ground, down
embankments and filling in the dry, bare places where other flowers
refuse to grow.

From one to many — that's my plan — but, this time, with a more appropriate plant.

Monday, March 19, 2012

An alluring fragrance together with a succession of purple, lavender and white blooms make yesterday-today-and-tomorrow plant a stunning addition to the garden

Simply Living
March 19, 2012

Where's that sweet smell coming from?"

My daughter, visiting
from Massachusetts with her husband and two young babies, had just come
in from taking an outdoor shower where the natural aroma of blooming
flowers overpowered the floral scent of soap and shampoo.

"Is it
from the bottlebrush tree?" Jenny asked referring to the 15-foot tall
Callistemon tree near the shower. "It's so full of blossoms."

"No,
not the bottlebrush," I told her. "It's the brunfelsia — the
yesterday-today-and-tomorrow bush — growing around the corner. Walk over
there and you'll see. It smells amazing."

A few minutes later, Jenny returned.

"You're right," she said. "It was the brunfelsia. I had no idea its aroma could travel so far."

Brunfelsia
does have a powerful fragrance. Not only does this early bloomer
produce an abundance of small, pansy-like blooms, the multicolored
flowers emit a far-reaching sweetness that always reminds me of
springtime on Cape Cod.

One whiff is all it takes to reclaim old
memories. As I inhale the aroma of the brunfelsia's
white-lavender-and-purple blooms, I recall the scent of daffodils, grape
hyacinths and those tiny white snowbells that used to pop up in our
lawn after a muddy March thaw.

Florida's mild climate doesn't
support those mainstays of a Northern bulb garden but other plants —
including brunfelsia — are here to usher in the spring season with heady
aromas.

Native to the woodlands of Brazil, brunfelsia is a small
shrub (7 to 10 feet tall by 5 to 8 feet wide) with aromatic flowers that
blooms profusely throughout the warm months. While there are about 30
varieties, brunfelsia grandiflora, brunfelsia australis and brunfelsia
pauciflora are three of the most commonly grown species.

Brunfelsia likes a slightly acidic soil, grows best in somewhat
filtered sunlight and has minimal pest problems. Although sensitive to
cold, the plant recovers quickly. I've been growing brunfelsia for about
10 years and while it has frequently received cold damage, its blooms
have never failed to scent the spring air.

My first plant came
from Smith's Nursery in Mascotte. The entryway at this small, family-run
nursery is flanked by a mature and incredibly beautiful row of
yesterday-today-and-tomorrow plants. I can't imagine how any prospective
plant purchaser who catches a glimpse of those amazing plants can leave
the nursery without buying one. I certainly couldn't.

I planted
my original 3-gal plant next to the west side of our house, around the
corner from our outdoor shower. Since then, it has produced several
"babies" nearby. Every now and then, I give the area a good weeding and
occasionally — once every few years — add a top dressing of enriched
soil.

Like most of my favorite flowering plants, brunfelsia can
handle a large measure of neglect. The original plant is now about 6
feet tall and the babies are about half that size. I'm sure if they were
pampered a bit — irrigated, fertilized and weeded regularly, etc. —
they would look more like the stunning examples at Smith's Nursery, but
even left alone the plants are impressive.

Brunfelsia's special
quality — in addition to its ability to trigger memories of Northern
spring gardens — is its unusual tri-colored floral display. Many plants
have pretty, sweet-smelling blooms, but only brunfelsia supports three
different colored blossoms simultaneously. Blooms begin as a dark purple
flowers with a white center but because new ones are constantly
opening, the bush is never covered without multiple colors. As the days
go by (think: yesterday-today-tomorrow), flowers fade from dark purple
to pale lavender to soft white. All the while, their scented message
travels the airwaves to bees, butterflies, moths and people.

"Come hither!" they seem to call. "Come visit! Sweeten the moment!"

I'm
glad my daughter was here to experience this special harbinger of a
Southern spring. Florida may lack the lilac bushes, pussy willows,
crocuses, daffodils and forsythias that Jenny enjoys up North but here
in the Sunshine State we have our own floral indications of spring and
sweet brunfelsia is on that list.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Although adult sandhill cranes are capable of defending themselves from many predators including dogs, they are less likely to nest and raise young in areas where domestic pets run loose.

Simply Living
March 12, 2012

Insistent bellowing drew me away from dinnertime preparations.

Sandhill
cranes have a distinctive call when threatened. Their vocalization — a
continual stream of guttural trills performed with uplifted heads —
signals danger. As soon as I heard the sound, I put dinner on hold and
ran outdoors.

It was almost dusk and the two cranes that spend
every evening on a small island at the north end of the lake were not
where they usually were at that hour. Instead of nestling in for a night
of quiet repose, the gray-feathered beauties were about 300 feet away
trumpeting their territorial claim in a tremulous staccato.

The
birds were in intensive defensive mode and I didn't need to see the
threat to know what was causing their alarm. My son had stopped by a
short time before with a young dog adopted from the pound that very day.
While I was fixing food, my son, husband and Chewy, a brown mixed breed
similar in size and color to a coyote, were taking a walk around the
lake. The dog, delighted with his sudden luck in not only having acres
of space to explore but also a plethora of wildlife to chase, set his
sights on the cranes.

Let me step back a bit to explain that I've
always had a fondness for canines. Throughout my childhood, my best
friend was a shorthaired white mutt named Happy. When Happy died, a
collie-mix named Phoebe filled the void. I was in college when Phoebe
passed on but a few years later the first of three successive terrier
mixes — each named Dibs — fulfilled my need for canine companionship.
Our own children were almost all grown when our last Dibs — a jolly
13-year-old who spent most days outside — had an unfortunate encounter
with an alligator. A few months later, after both of our elderly cats
died, my husband and I decided to take a prolonged break from
domesticated animals.

The resulting hiatus coincided with an
increase in wildlife on the property. Without a resident dog or cats to
chase them away, populations of mammals, birds, amphibians and reptiles
could safely proliferate.

Around the same time, I underwent a
transformation that I found freeing. For the first time in 30 years, I
didn't have young children or domesticated animals to take care of. I
could concentrate instead on nurturing the environment and enjoying the
antics of the burgeoning wildlife populations.

This leads back to
the incident with my son's new pet. The unleashed dog did what any
recently rescued canine might do — he demonstrated his boundless energy
and appreciation of his newfound freedom by chasing birds. Fortunately,
sandhill cranes are quite capable of defending themselves. By the time I
rushed outside, Chewy was beating a path away from the bellowers. I
don't know if the cranes' vocalizations scared him off or if another
sighting or scent diverted his attention. What I do know is he came when
called and I was able to bring him into the garage until my son arrived
with his leash.

I know firsthand how much love and companionship
pets can provide. I also know the deep sense of pleasure and pride
derived from a life interwoven with the natural meanderings of wildlife.
I'm glad my son adopted a young dog to keep him company but I'm also
glad my life has turned in a different direction.

Fast forward a
few days. It's dusk — the hour when the sandhill cranes arrive for their
evening repose. The long-legged birds have settled onto their island
perch without any surprise encounters with frisky pups. The night is
calm. No bellowing warning cries fill the air.

Making acres of
land inaccessible to unleashed dogs and outdoor cats can't ensure the
safety of wild animals — they have plenty of natural obstacles to
overcome — but it can level the playing field. When I gave up pets, I
gained wildlife. Rather than losing valuable connections, I extended
their range, scope and depth.

Monday, March 5, 2012

The first time I saw the lakeside property where we now
live, a flock of swallows was flying overhead.The acrobatic birds – there must have been at least two dozen of them -
took turns skimming over the water’s still surface before soaring upward,
circling about then swooping down for another go-around.I remember standing on the shore mesmerized by
what looked like poetry in motion.I
felt privy to a private show.

I fell in love that day with a land and lake rich with potential.Both held promise of many more performances
to come.The encounter with the swallows
fed my imagination.Because of them, I envisioned
a future of wildlife encounters, a host of nature’s bounties.

The deal was clinched.Twenty years have passed since that day and I haven’t been disappointed.Each time swallows reappear, I flashback to that
magical first impression of our property.

It happened again today.

Tree swallows (Tachycineta bicolor) are seasonal visitors to
Florida, venturing south in autumn to enjoy the warm winter climate before
returning north in springtime to breed.Not
only are these small, forked-tailed songbirds agile fliers, they are also
highly social animals.They feed, roost
and fly – up to 25 mph - in large groups called flights, performing their
aerial dances en masse.If you catch
sight of a flight of swallows, you will see dozens of white undersides flash in
sharp contrast to their iridescent blue-green upperparts.

Consummate bug eaters, tree swallows, with their lithe, streamlined
bodies, are adept at capturing insects on the wing.Gnats, mosquitoes, mayflies, ants, beetles,
spiders and grasshoppers are among the many bugs caught in their short, pointy
bills.While insects make up about 80
percent of their diet, tree swallows also eat some berries and seeds.They are especially fond of the berries found
on wax myrtle and bayberry bushes and will often feed on those berries on rainy
days when the weather is not suitable for flying.

I don’t see tree swallows often and that’s one reason I find
each sighting so special.Another reason
is the gracefulness of these birds in flight, especially over water.Tree swallows travel with such ease of
motion.Simply watching them feels
enlightening.

I’ve often wondered what motivates swallows to intersperse their
aerial displays with brief touchdowns upon the water’s still surface.Are they after food?A drink of water?Are they taking a bath or simply having
fun?As it turns out, it could be any of
those reasons.

Food and Water – Although they are experts at catching airborne
insects, tree swallows occasionally seek out water-bound prey like water
boatmen (hemiptera) and midges, miniscule bugs that live on a lake’s surface.When the birds swoop down, their wide-open mouths
act like scoops, skimming up insects as well as water to drink.

Bathing – A tree swallow’s bath is a two-in-one operation.It’s a bath as the bird brushes the water
with outstretched wings.It’s a shower, as
it shakes water off while regaining altitude.Tree swallows also take advantage of rainfall to preen feathers and do a
bit of personal grooming.

Just for Fun – It’s impossible to know what goes on in any
animal’s mind, but it’s hard to imagine how these aerial artists could not
derive some pleasure from their aquatic touchdowns.Such fun it must be to fly as they do.Watching a flock on the wing over water is the
perfect combination of beauty with grace, utilitarian action with the sublime.

For most of Florida’s seasonal birds, March signals migration
time.Tree swallows will soon be
gathering in large flocks – sometimes numbering in the thousands – for the long
flight north.They will return to homes
throughout North America to find nesting sites in open spaces near marshes or
water where they’ll mate and produce young.The nests they build in either tree cavities or in manmade nesting boxes
are soft cuplike structures lined with feathers and made out of whatever
materials are close by – usually grasses, twigs and pine needles.

Although Floridians
will miss the reproductive period of the tree swallow life cycle, we can take
solace in anticipating their springtime return. I know I’m grateful for whatever encounters I
have with these avian beauties.I
consider each visit a gift as well as a reminder that 20 years ago my husband I
made the right choice in selecting a place to call home.

Welcome!

Hi! I'm Sherry Boas. Thank you for visiting my blog. As a freelance writer, my work has appeared in numerous publications and my SIMPLY LIVING column ran as a weekly feature in the Orlando Sentinel for the 10 years between 2006 and 2017. You can find all my old columns on this site plus many other essays, poems, photographs and videos. Take time to explore and come back often. If you have a comment, question or simply want to say hello, please do! I look forward to hearing from you!

ROWING THROUGH THE MIST

SIMPLY WILD!

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